


In The Lion's Den

by RichardGraysonPercyJackson



Series: The Forbidden Love of Nightwing and Deathstroke [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Broken Bones, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 13:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18366839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichardGraysonPercyJackson/pseuds/RichardGraysonPercyJackson
Summary: Dick's off his game with a broken ankle and Deathstroke has chosen a hell of a time to show up





	In The Lion's Den

“Ow! Shit, shit, shit!”

Nightwing hissed, leaning heavily on one of the support pillars in the warehouse and tentatively lifting one foot to get weight off the ankle he was pretty sure was broken.

“Ah fuck,” he whispered. His suit and boot would be a good enough splint until he could get home and changed, but that meant he’d have to run across rooftops on a bad ankle.

If it wasn’t broken now, it certainly would be by the time he got back to his apartment.

“Well look what we have here.”

Nightwing tensed, lowering his foot but keeping weight off of it, one hand on the support pillar as he turned and looked up to find Deathstroke on the floor above him, watching him. “Does the little birdie have a broken wing?”

“Fuck off,” Nightwing replied, rolling his eyes under his mask as Deathstroke slowly made his way to the stairs nearby, each step heavy and calculated.

He was trying to scare Nightwing but the vigilante was in absolutely no mood to deal with the mercenary.

“Where’s daddy?” Deathstroke asked as he came to the bottom of the stairs, walking over to lean against the support pillar Nightwing was leaning on, getting right into the acrobat’s personal space.

“Gotham,” Nightwing replied easily. “This is Bludhaven. My city. He’s not welcome here and he knows that.”

“Does he?” Deathstroke asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then what about Robin? Where’s he?”

“Again,” Nightwing said, trying to keep his pain and exhaustion out of his voice. “Gotham. Where he belongs.”

Deathstroke’s tone was mocking. “So don’t tell me,” he purred, putting his masked face inches from Nightwing’s. “You’re working all alone out here?”

Nightwing shoved Deathstroke away. It didn’t even move the mercenary but just for the fun of it, Deathstroke did lean back.

“I work alone,” Nightwing said, drawing himself up as well as possible without further injuring his ankle.

“Really?” Deathstroke drawled, pushing himself off the pillar to slowly stalk around Nightwing who struggled to keep the killer in view without giving away his injured ankle. “Because I vaguely recall a man all in black saying that same thing, despite the horde of traffic colored birdies following in his wake.”

“ _ I  _ work alone,” Nightwing growled. “Batman is a hypocrite.”

“You look beat, kid,” Deathstroke said, placing his hands on his hips as he came to a stop in front of Nightwing. “You should go home and get some rest.”

“Which is what I was planning to do,” Nightwing told him. “Until  _ someone  _ got in my way.”

“Well by all means, go home,” Deathstroke said, sweeping one hand to the side. “I’m not stopping you.”

Nightwing ground his teeth together because of  _ course _ . Deathstroke knew damn well he was hiding an injury and knew damn well he couldn’t get home on his own.

“I am going home.”

“Of course,” Deathstroke said slowly. 

Nightwing turned and began to leave, trying not to limp but trying to keep most weight off his ankle. He was nearing the door when Deathstroke spoke again.

“Then again,” he called. “Maybe I’m here to kill someone. Could be an innocent this time.”

“You don’t kill innocent people,” Nightwing said, even as he’d stopped and tried to debate if the mercenary was telling the truth.

“And you don’t kill anyone,” Deathstroke reminded him. 

“What are you getting at?” Nightwing demanded.

“Nothing,” Deathstroke replied. “Just surprised.”

Nightwing heaved a tired sigh. All he wanted was to go home and curl up on the couch and sleep for three hours until his shift at the station started. Then again, with his ankle, he was probably going to have to take the day off.

“Surprised at  _ what _ ?” he asked, too tired to turn around.

“That you’d really walk away and let me kill someone.”

“I’m not-” Nightwing pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, taking a few minutes to breath and shove his throbbing ankle to the back of his mind before finally turning and facing the older man. “What do you want? A fight? I’m not in the mood.”

“Too bad,” Deathstroke said, drawing one of his katanas. “I am.”

Nightwing heaved a long sigh before fully turning and pulling his escrima sticks from the holsters on his back.

The fight, admittedly, didn’t last long. The minute Deathstroke kicked out his injured ankle, the one he’d been favoring, Nightwing went down with a scream.

He had maybe half a second to register the prick of a needle in his neck before darkness crept along his vision and dragged him under, giving him no chance to fight back.

His last coherent thought before spiraling into unconsciousness was  _ fuck me. _

 

………..

 

The first thing Dick registered when he regained consciousness was a hand on his forehead. He acted without thinking, arm lashing up to grab the person’s wrist and twist.

But the person was faster and stronger and all too soon, Dick’s wrists were pinned to the bed. He opened his eyes with a glare, narrowing them when his vision remained blurry.

“Geez, relax kid,” an all too familiar voice grumbled before Dick’s wrists were released. “It’s just-”

“Slade,” Dick growled, pushing himself into a seated position and weakly shoving Slade away, rubbing his wrists and looking around the room. “Where am I?”

Slade leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “My apartment. I wasn’t going to let you limp home and make your ankle worse.”

“So you what?” Dick snarled. “Just brought me here out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Yes.”

Dick scoffed. “The only heart you have, if that’s not just an empty cavity in your chest, is cold and dead.”

Slade chuckled. “I can assure you kid, I prefer you breathing. You’ll die when I’m good and ready and I’ll make sure it’s at my hand and not the hand of some homeless bum because you broke your ankle and don’t know when you stop pushing yourself.” 

Dick scoffed. “That’s reassuring.”

“Good,” Slade said gruffly. “I’ve bandaged your ankle. I’d advise you not put any weight on it for the next forty-eight hours.”

“So what then?” Dick demanded, crossing his arms over his chest as Slade moved to the door of the room. “You’re just going to keep me here until then?”

Slade glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes. And if I need to keep you sedated until then, I will. Breakfast?”

“Seriously?” Dick asked. “After you just threatened to drug me?”

“Yes,” Slade replied, flashing Dick an unreadable grin before leaving the room.

As soon as he was gone, Dick let out a quiet breath. “I’m in the lion’s den,” he murmured, gazing down at the shirt he was dressed in. The one he knew, without a doubt, was Slade’s. “Hell of a time to fall in love with the world’s greatest mercenary.”


End file.
